| Monday, December 17, 2007 |
| kul mila ke hun mauja hi mauja |
There was a time when I would race down the road at a clip faster than my pulse. When the scent of burnt rubber fueled the fire in my chest. When every pothole was swallowed by my gleeful wheels and sent up to my spine. When Chris Cornell’s voice in my ears was a distant second to the voice inside my head. I would disregard drivers, cops, bikers, pedestrians, signals, everyone. I’d show them the finger if they glared at me, carve out non-existent ways in-between traffic, almost willing to be ploughed down by a BEST bus or a bigger vehicle. Waiting, even. Expecting it anytime. Picturing it and playing back the impact in my head like a self-indulgent filmmaker. Wondering if my credit card really did provide a cover for accidental injury stroke death or it was just a sales pitch with fine print.
Ironically, things only happen when you least expect them to. But that’s another story.
I drove like that a few days ago, but only almost. I didn’t want a bus to ram into me. I didn’t imagine a crumpled heap lying in the garage and Varghese shaking his head and scratching his moustache. I didn’t even picture my credit card. The car and I were having a moment.
I rang her doorbell. Thrice.
She opened the door and rolled her eyes. What do you want. I looked her straight in the eye. You tell me.
She shook her head. I don’t have time, ok. I’m fucking … this investment banker type who’s got more money than libido.
You don’t know his name? Stupid question.
She feigned surprise and rolled her eyes again.
Listen, sweetheart, this better be better than an orgasm coz as far as I’m concerned, I’m letting you lay low for a while before our next rendezvous.
I pursed my lips appreciatively, sarcastically. And when is that? She shrugged. Search me.
I didn’t want to go in. I stood there, almost like I was waiting for Godot.
She was getting irritated. Not good.
You know I’ve never slammed my door on anyone’s face, but there’s always a first time.
How can you be so … so … heartless, bitch? I blurted out.
Heartless? I even sent you a gift, damn you!
About fucking time but this is not about me.
What the fuck’s that supposed to mean and what the fuck is THAT supposed to mean?
I took a deep breath. Listen, you’re not getting me.
She was livid. I don’t want to, you fucking moron. I’m not supposed to. I’m just that irritating, disinterested call-center chick who’s actually put there to make things harder for you. You should be grateful I actually bothered with you, you should be falling at my feet and you’re standing here giving me attitude. I’ll kick your ass you ingrate don’t fuck with me.
She took a deep breath. A small voice called out to her.
Pathi gayu darling?
Chup chaap baith mera khatam nahi hua abhi tak.
She stepped out and closed the door behind her.
You have some gall, showing up at my door. You can’t see what you have. Look at me, just look at me. I’m a slut, a whore, a nun, a nurse, I’m your favourite nightmare and your worst dream come true - because of you. And you’re standing here complaining? You think it’s any easier for me than it is for you?
I looked away.
You’ve seen Malena? She snapped.
I looked at her, surprised.
The film?
No, my wedding video. Yes, the film!
What about it?
I’m Malena. Leave me alone. I’m standing here naked, trying to survive only you won’t let me. You curse me, you moan and groan, and you only see the bad side of me. And then you call ME a bitch. I’m not perfect, neither are you. It’s your fault. Not mine.
But I just can’t understand why you …
She cut me short.
How the fuck do you expect to understand when I’ve never understood myself?
Her eyes were disappointed. I felt guilty.
Listen, I’m …
She waved me off.
Just go, okay. We’ll meet again if we must. Just … I’m not … evil like you think I am.
I didn’t say you were.
She suddenly got all disdainful again.
Fuck off or I may just throw that fuckface out and pull you in now do you want that?
I’m going.
Good. And stay out.
Later.
Hope like hell, cupcake.
She shut the door and I walked back to my car. The engine squealed into action immediately, and I weaved through traffic until a cop pulled me over. He stuck his head into the car and sniffed.
Have you had drink?
No, but I could use one.
Ha, ha. Going to home?
Yes.
Kidhar gaye thhey?
I smiled.
Kothe pe. |
posted by n.g. at 12:25
(0) Peg(s) of Whisky
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